Chapter 20

The strange, fragile atmosphere of that rain-soaked morning lingered between them for quite some time. Tentatively, Lee Jaeha allowed himself to sink into its quiet warmth, wondering whether this was what ordinary people called happiness.

“Show me your wounds,” Jaeha demanded one evening.

“Want to do it?” Taegeon drawled, reclining with practiced laziness. “Should I take everything off?”

Taegeon possessed a terrifying gift for delivering the filthiest, most suggestive remarks with an utterly blank expression. The implication sent heat rushing to the tips of Jaeha’s ears. When he narrowed his eyes into a cutting glare, Taegeon immediately retreated behind a languid smirk.

“I thought you were thinking about sex. I was only asking whether you wanted me to strip so you could treat the wound.”

After offering that shameless excuse, Taegeon ran his tongue across his lower lip, an effortless gesture so indecently seductive that Jaeha almost forgot why he had approached him in the first place.

Taegeon had made it clear that he had no intention of returning to the hospital for proper stitches, stubbornly maintaining that the puncture was not deep enough to justify the inconvenience. Left with no reasonable alternative, Jaeha assumed responsibility for disinfecting the wound every evening.

The Alpha’s rate of cellular recovery was genuinely astonishing. Day by day, Jaeha could see the torn flesh knitting itself closed. Even so, Taegeon showed no intention of giving up his daily showers despite having a literal hole in his abdomen. Terrified that the wound would become severely infected, Jaeha found himself chasing the enormous man through the house and stubbornly insisting on applying antiseptic.

The main problem was that Taegeon always returned to the estate at an ungodly hour.

Jaeha began sleeping fitfully on the living room sofa so that the sound of the front door unlocking would wake him immediately. Each night, he retrieved the first aid kit while barely conscious, then remained suspended in a dull, half-awake haze while Taegeon showered.

One night, as Jaeha struggled to force his mind back into working order, Taegeon emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of mineral water he had taken from the refrigerator. His hair was still dripping wet. Jaeha informed him that it was time to treat the wound.

As though finally surrendering to a persistence that bordered on Omega-like devotion, Taegeon wandered toward the living room sofa, where Jaeha had arranged the medical supplies with meticulous care.

“You look exhausted,” Taegeon observed, his voice settling into a low, resonant hum.

“…I’m not.”

The denial came instinctively, though Jaeha knew there was no concealing the faint puffiness of his face or the unruly bedhead that had ravaged his normally immaculate appearance.

Under any other circumstances, he would have locked himself in the bathroom and polished every visible flaw until his flawless corporate veneer had been restored. At that moment, however, he was too drowsy to summon even one coherent thought. He had lost count of how many consecutive nights he had endured the same grueling routine, waiting for Taegeon’s late return, carefully tending to his wound, and collapsing into a deep sleep as soon as the task was finished.

Already burdened by a punishing workload as he finalized a massive departmental handover, Jaeha had been forced to push himself to his physical limit simply to remain awake for him. Despite his fearsome reputation as a man who would not bleed even if pierced with a needle, Lee Jaeha treasured a full night’s sleep more than almost anything else.

When he was younger and clawing his way up the corporate hierarchy, he had deliberately deprived himself of rest, afraid his rivals would seize upon any sign of exhaustion and wield it as proof of weakness. Now, a different fear kept him awake. Taegeon already regarded the medical routine as an irritating inconvenience, and Jaeha was terrified that the man would grow bored and dismiss him if he noticed the fatigue weighing heavily upon his lashes. Thus, he fought a silent and desperate battle merely to keep his eyes open.

Taegeon reached out, closed his fingers around Jaeha’s wrist, and pulled him down onto the sofa beside him.

“Do it, then.”

A dark, crooked smile curved across Taegeon’s lips. He appeared far too entertained by the sight of Jaeha struggling, as though he wanted to discover exactly how much further the man was willing to push himself.

Strangest of all, that blatant condescension did not provoke Jaeha’s innate Alpha pride in the slightest.

Lee Jaeha had always stood above everyone else, no matter which room he entered. He had never needed to fight for the position; everything he possessed had simply established it as fact. Born a dominant Alpha into the Yooshin dynasty, he had kept the heels of his bespoke boots planted firmly upon the necks of his peers without ever needing to exert physical force.

Jang Taegeon, however, behaved as though he were blind to the hierarchy. Or perhaps he saw it with perfect clarity and simply did not give a single fuck.

Sitting before him, Jaeha felt like an absolute nobody.

The realization was unbearably humiliating, yet at the same time, it was astonishingly liberating. To be nobody in Jang Taegeon’s eyes meant that he was neither a corporate asset nor a political pawn nor a biological trophy. For once, he was being treated as an ordinary human being.

As an equal.

Jaeha leaned forward and started his work. Taegeon reclined heavily against the leather sofa, resembling a beast fully sated after a kill, intently observing Jaeha’s every move through dangerously narrowed eyes. Jaeha reached for the bandages, intending to unwrap the sodden layers ruined by the shower. As he leaned closer, the dense fragrance of rugosa roses flooded his senses, intensified and saturated by the moisture.

Outside, rain was falling heavily once again.

Jaeha hesitated, sterile gauze suspended between his fingers. At last, he allowed the quiet question to escape.

“…Does this happen often?”

“You mean getting a hole punched through my stomach?”

Taegeon answered slowly, deliberately permitting the silence to stretch and thicken around them.

Now fully awake, Jaeha felt himself sinking into the intimate darkness filling the dimly lit living room.

Only two Alphas breathed within the shared space, Jang Taegeon and Lee Jaeha. The stark awareness sent a strange electric current racing down his spine.

“I don’t know,” Taegeon finally said. His tone reduced the violence to an afterthought, something too trivial to warrant concern. Lazily, he reached out and dragged his thumb across the flat plane of Jaeha’s clothed stomach.

Jaeha inhaled sharply as the sudden heat of the touch scorched straight through his composure.

“To a sheltered Director with such a pristine stomach, it might seem frequent.” A sharp gleam ignited in Taegeon’s eyes. “But since we’re technically newlyweds, I suppose I should take slightly better care of myself.”

At the unexpected and casual mention of them being newlyweds, Jaeha’s lips curved into a soft, unconscious smile.

“Newlyweds…”

“What’s wrong with the word?”

The dark timbre of Taegeon’s voice carried a heavy and unmistakable expectation, as though Jaeha’s next response mattered more than he was willing to admit. Jaeha held his gaze and forced his own voice to remain firm despite the tension gathering between them.

“Even if we weren’t newlyweds, you should take better care of yourself.”

Taegeon smirked, genuine amusement sharpening his expression. Without looking away, he slid the hand resting against Jaeha’s stomach around his back, gripped his waist, and hauled him effortlessly against his side. With his other arm, he hooked a hand beneath Jaeha’s knees, silently commanding him to raise his legs and lay them across his lap.

In an instant, Jaeha found himself caught in a precarious and unmistakably suggestive position, perched sideways across Jang Taegeon’s thighs. No one had ever held him that way, not even during the earliest years of his childhood. Jaeha kept his spine rigid, every muscle drawn tight with defensive tension.

Taegeon seemed entirely untroubled by his resistance. He merely watched with a lazy, unhurried gaze while one broad hand began stroking the sensitive skin of Jaeha’s inner thigh.

“Taking care of my own body?” Taegeon murmured. “I’m incapable of that.”

“I meant…”

“Then why don’t you follow me around for the rest of your life and take care of me instead?”

With one fluid motion, Taegeon wrapped an arm around Jaeha’s waist and dragged him flush against his chest. Not even a sliver of space remained between their bodies.

Jaeha looked slightly upward and found Taegeon smiling down at him. He could not escape the creeping suspicion that he was being manipulated. He had no idea what Taegeon’s endgame might be, but the sensation was impossible to deny. Who had ever dared to glorify love so recklessly? The sheer weight of the emotion gathering inside him stole his breath and drew hot tears toward his eyes, leaving him completely still.

Is this nothing more than confinement?

The thought drifted through Jaeha’s dazed mind.

Taegeon chuckled, the light, composed sound clashing violently with the frantic hammering of Jaeha’s heart. His deceptively soft lips parted.

“Why aren’t you answering?” he murmured. “You’re making me anxious.”

“…I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m so grateful I hardly know what to do with myself. Can I repay you with my body?”

Without waiting for an answer, Taegeon buried his face in the curve of Jaeha’s neck. The sudden heat of soft, damp lips against his pulse sent a violent jolt through Jaeha, and he flinched on instinct. Almost immediately, he forced his shoulders to relax, terrified that any abrupt movement might aggravate Taegeon’s wound.

“…You need to be treated first,” Jaeha managed to whisper.

“Then get on with it. Has anyone ever stopped you?”

He was resorting to that infuriating and utterly unreasonable behavior again. Jaeha pressed weakly against Taegeon’s thick upper arms, but even that faint resistance dissolved almost at once.

I need to disinfect the wound.

It was the only rational thought he had left, repeating relentlessly inside his head.

Taegeon’s hot breath swept across Jaeha’s ear in rhythmic waves, relentless as the typhoon raging against the estate. While the storm shook the windowpanes, Jaeha remained suspended in the man’s embrace, torn between the desperate wish that the tempest might continue forever and the immediate, electric thrill of walking willingly into its heart.

“You need to focus, Executive Director.”

Taegeon caught Jaeha by the chin and tilted his head downward before sealing their lips together. As scorching breath passed between them, Jaeha’s eyes fluttered shut. He was already engulfed in the tempest.

***